t him!" came the angry response.

The mother clasped her hands to her breast, looked about and saw that
the crowd, before so dense, was now standing irresolute, watching the
comrades walk away from them with the banner, followed by about a dozen
people, one of whom, however, at every forward move, jumped aside as if
the path in the middle of the street were red hot and burned his soles.

"The tyranny will fall--" sounded the prophetic song from the lips of
Fedya.

"And the people will rise!" the chorus of powerful voices seconded
confidently and menacingly.

But the harmonious flow of the song was broken by the quiet words:

"He is giving orders."

"Charge bayonets!" came the piercing order from the front.

The bayonets curved in the air, and glittered sharply; then fell and
stretched out to confront the banner.

"Ma-arch!"

"They're coming!" said the lame man, and thrusting his hands into his
pockets made a long step to one side.

The mother, without blinking, looked on. The gray line of soldiers
tossed to and fro, and spread out over the entire width of the street.
It moved on evenly, coolly, carrying in front of itself a fine-toothed
comb of sparkling bayonets. Then it came to a stand. The mother took
long steps to get nearer to her son. She saw how Andrey strode ahead
of Pavel and fenced him off with his long body. "Get alongside of me!"
Pavel shouted sharply. Andrey was singing, his hands clasped behind
his back, his head uplifted. Pavel pushed him with his shoulder, and
again cried:

"At my side! Let the banner be in front!"

"Disperse!" called a little officer in a thin voice, brandishing a
white saber. He lifted his feet high, and without bending his knees
struck his soles on the ground irritably. The high polish on his boots
caught the eyes of the mother.

To one side and somewhat behind him walked a tall, clean-shaven man,
with a thick, gray mustache. He wore a long gray overcoat with a red
underlining, and yellow stripes on his trousers. His gait was heavy,
and like the Little Russian, he clasped his hands behind his back. He
regarded Pavel, raising his thick gray eyebrows.

The mother seemed to be looking into infinity. At each breath her
breast was ready to burst with a loud cry. It choked her, but for some
reason she restrained it. Her hands clutched at her bosom. She
staggered from repeated thrusts. She walked onward without thought,
almost without consciousness. She felt